Among Penguins: A Bird Man in Antarctica

16. Among Penguins

84 16. Among Penguins eee Think of the biggest rock concert you’ve ever been to, except everyone is two feet tall, wearing a tuxedo, and smells like fish. And you’re on stage. I absolutely felt like a rock star entering the penguin colony for the first time. Kirsten, Michelle, and I had stuffed about forty pounds of gear into each of our packs, suited up in coldweather clothing, and left the hut in late morning after a relaxed breakfast. Conditions couldn’t have been more inviting for our first day afield. Sunshine glared off ice fields under calm skies. A brisk forty-five-minute hike, using metal-spiked crampons to grip glimmering blue ice underfoot, led us eventually to a ridgetop, where, on one side, the ground sloped away into ice and nothingness. In front, a valley was packed with more penguins than I could have dreamed existed. I stood there surrounded, awed, and slightly sickened by my first real sight of penguins. Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of them. In every direction, curious eyes stared, beaks preened, tails lifted over streaming shots of smelly defecation. Penguins seethed, growled, walked aimlessly in circles. The crowd was overpowering. Masses of penguins blackened the valley, burnt the landscape, as if a wildfire had left ribbons of writhing, charred ashes on the ice. They trailed off into the horizon, perspective blending the birds into the distant Ross Ice Shelf. Michelle pointed down-valley to where wide rivers of penguins flowed to meet the frozen ocean. “Let’s head down there,” she suggested. “That’s where most of the action concentrates.” She gazed over the kingdom with a confident look. Michelle seemed completely at ease here, in her element, unfazed by the sight of chaos in front of us. She regarded the scene as a biologist on a mission. 85 Among Penguins But I wasn’t quite so calm. “We’re completely outnumbered!” I blurted, wide eyed at the sight of penguin armies in full deployment. Before we could advance or retreat, a greeting party of penguins waddled toward us. Five or six birds hurried on short, stumpy legs as fast as they could go, stopping just short of my boots. One stepped forward, inspected my feet from several inches away, and craned its head upward. It goggled an eye, stared hard, and rolled its pupils, evidently expressing strong emotion, then doubled over and gingerly untied one of my boot laces. That task accomplished, it stepped back and sized me up. I stared right back. The penguin was the size and shape of a fat bowling pin, patterned with the classic tuxedo—black with a white belly. At full stretch, it reached just above my kneecaps. Strong, fully feathered feet gripped the ice like crampon spikes. The bird’s plumage was smartly demarcated, crisp and clean, but I was most taken with the penguin’s ever-changing expressions. Pale eyes peered from a dark face, showing curiosity one second, trepidation the next. It was clear that this bird didn’t know what to think of us. Its friends likewise were stymied, and stood in a rough line facing Kirsten, Michelle, and me, unsure of their next move. Kirsten broke the standoff by stepping confidently sideways to circumvent the dumbstruck penguin gang. “Watch your step,” she warned as Michelle and I followed. “The icy spots are slippery and the rocky areas are loose, and look out for eggs.” As we waded knee deep into the valley of penguins, I glanced back over my shoulder. The original greeting party had snapped out of their trance, and, apparently with nothing better to do, followed close on our heels. Other curious penguins joined in, and we soon trailed a gaggle of several dozen birds wobbling quickly to keep pace. Kirsten threaded a path through the masses of penguins by sticking to open lanes between subcolonies. These bare spaces were used by commuting birds, and we constantly dodged oncoming traffic to stay clear of collisions. Fat penguins, bellies 86 Noah Strycker bloated with fish, waddled slowly uphill toward their nests and mates, so intent on their own business that they hardly minded our passage. The birds harbored little fear of us. This early in the season, a large number of the adults sprawled on nests in a half-asleep state, eyelids drooping, feathers fluffed out. They lay prone on their bellies, facing head on into...